


Like a Fourth Grade Sleepover

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Dinner, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Hot Chocolate, It really is rated G but there's a tiny bit of innuendo - like the summary, Male-Female Friendship, Movie Night, Pajamas & Sleepwear, There's also alcohol involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I slipped some condoms in your wallet when you weren't looking this afternoon."</i>
</p><p>Henry nearly choked over his water, drawing forth a concerned look from Jo. "Abraham!"<br/></p><hr/><p><br/>In which a dinner date with Jo turns into an impromptu sleepover movie night, and Henry will swear up and down on his never-to-be grave that it is a lot more innocent than it actually sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting the Stage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idelthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/gifts).



"I think it's wonderful that she invited you out," Abe said. "I mean, it's not as though you get out and make friends very often."

Henry rolled his eyes, fixing the button on his cuff. "Thank you for that, _son_."

"Any time, _dad_." Abe clapped him on the shoulder. "I won't wait up. Unfortunately, I have no committments to pass the time..."

"I'm not hinting to her that you want to be invited next time," Henry said.

"Hey, I didn't say anything." Abe held up his hands.

Henry shook his head, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. "No, you just heavily implied it. I'll try to be home early."

"Don't rush on my account. Call me if you need a ride."

"Thanks." Henry smiled warmly, of which quickly soured as he opened the car door and a blast of New York winter weather hit him in the face. It wasn't as though he hadn't had the time to get used to the weather; but, it was just _cold_ , snowy, and unpleasant, turning the warmth in his veins to ice. "See you later," he said to Abraham, and closed the door behind himself.

He watched Abe drive off, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He disliked Abe out driving in this weather almost as much as he disliked the city's transit system, but looking at either, it was simply no time of year to be pedalling through two and a half inches of snow. His bicycle could handle the cold, but snow was a different matter.

Shivering, he pulled himself away from the curb and hurried down the sidewalk. Detective Martinez had invited him out last week, stemming off of an off-hand comment that he had made when he had joined them at the bar after the electrocution case that he _"didn't like crowds"_. That was partly true, although not the most prominent reason why he had never joined their group for celebratory drinks. In return, the good Detective said that she'd make him dinner with margaritas one day if he came over, and there had been little resistance in his body to the offer. He missed companionship, although he determined that saying that to anyone would only put both their lives and his secret in danger.

"You're early," Jo greeted as she opened the door. "Why does that not surprise me?"

Henry smiled. "Because you know me so well, Detective."

"Hah. I barely know you at all. Hence, drinks." Her tone was teasing, and she gestured for him to come in. "Dump your coat wherever. I haven't finished up dinner yet, give me a few minutes and we'll be able to eat."

Henry stomped the stubborn snow away from his boots. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Jo shook her head. "Nope, not today. Just sit down, remote's on top of the TV."

He suspected that this counted as one of many reasons that Henry did not often visit other people's homes. He preferred to do the _waiting on_ , rather than being waited on himself, and seating himself on a sofa that was not his and trying to flick through endless television stations to ease the tension was not his idea of a good night in.

Nor was casting his gaze about Detective Martinez's living room, but doing that he was. She had a simple way of decorating, which Henry appreciated. There was little clutter and what clutter there was was merely from signs of life: the blanket on the back of the couch was rumpled, a magazine open on the coffee table. There was a candle burning off in the farthest corner, spreading the soft scent of vanilla throughout the room. Funny; he hadn't pegged her as a candle person, to be honest.

Henry glanced towards the kitchen doorway and then let himself ease further into the living room. There was almost a distinct lack of personal furnishing. He had no room to talk, of course, but his circumstances were extenuating. Hanging a photo from 1945 of himself, Abigail, and Abraham would probably dredge up a few questions.

There was a singular photograph on the mantlepiece. He knew he shouldn't, but that meant that he did: he leaned closer to the mantle and inspected the man in the photo. This must have been Mr. Martinez, he thought to himself, taking in the strong features of the man's face and the quiet keenness of his eyes.

"Okay, I think that..."

Henry straightened up at the sound of Jo's voice. "I'm sorry. The television seems a needless distraction to your work and I must admit that I prefer tangible things to television shows." Be it far from his right to snoop on photographs that didn't involve him, but curiosity was something that never died, either.

Jo shook her head. "No worries, that's what it's there for," she said slowly, her eyes flicking to the photograph.

Henry suspected that it was not there for visitors, but he didn't say. "I take it that this is your late husband?"

Jo nodded slightly. "Yep."

"He looks most kind and wise, Detective. I'm sure he was a great man," Henry replied, smiling gently.

"He was." Jo shook her head slightly and blew out a breath, locking eyes with Henry. "Anyway, uh, dinner's done, so..."

Henry nodded. "Very well. If you could point me to where I might wash up?"

"Door just beside the washer and dryer."

Henry nodded his thanks and went to wash up.

　

 

Nearly at the completion of a lovely Mediterranean meal and being pleasantly surprised that Jo was a good enough cook to rival Abe, the Detective's phone rang. Moreover, it vibrated over on the chest of drawers, making Henry startle into nearly dropping his fork and Detective Martinez groan at the unwelcome addition to the conversation.

"I _really_ hope that's not a murder," Jo muttered.

Henry unfolded his napkin from his lap. "Well, what's dinner without dessert?"

Jo rolled her eyes and picked it up. "Martinez. ... Oh, yeah, hang on." She held the phone out to Henry. "It's for you."

Tendrils of dark curiosity trickled into his mind, and it wasn't just because she was offering him a cell phone to talk on. This conversation was almost eerily similar to when Jo had been in hospital after they had first met; Adam had been on the other end.

"It's Abe," Jo added, wiggling the phone.

Henry stood up, modern day irritability forgotten as he took the cell phone. "Abe?" he greeted. "What's wrong? Are you alright?" It wasn't at all out of their repertoire to be like father, like son, and many a time had Henry interrupted Abe's dates back when he had gone through that teenage phase of making bad decisions and being smart-mouthed.

But, Abraham never interrupted his dates, not that he had many to begin with. Henry was instantly on his guard.

 _"No, no, I'm fine, don't worry about me,"_ Abe said, and Henry loosened his grip around the mobile phone slightly.

"Oh. Good." Henry glanced at Jo, and then averted his gaze again. It was difficult enough to describe his and Abe's relationship on a normal day, let alone why Henry worried over him so much. "Did you have a specific reason for calling?"

_"Have you looked outside lately?"_

"No." Henry glanced towards the curtained windows. "Why?"

_"Go and see."_

Henry frowned and paced across the dining room, twitching the curtain aside. "What I am supposed to be- oh."

In the hour that he'd been at Jo's house, the snowfall had piled up on the ground, covering the streets and sidewalks. It was beautiful, but deadly, and the only signs of life were the tire treads cutting a path through the unbroken snow.

_"Weather forecast says three inches in the past hour. The roads are getting nasty. I don't want to cut your date short-"_

"It's not a date," Henry muttered, pressing the phone closer to lower his voice.

_"I don't want to cut your not-date short-"_

"Besides, I don't want you out in this," Henry interrupted. "Don't worry, I'll get a... cab home."

 _"And I can hear the sound of your stomach turning as you say that,"_ Abe said cheerfully from the other end of the line. _"How goes the dinner so far?"_

"Good," Henry said slowly, glancing over his shoulder. Jo wasn't where he had left her; instead, she was standing in front of the other window in the room with the curtain pulled back, too. "Detective Martinez is a lovely cook, Abe. She rivals you in talent." That got her attention, and he smiled at her from across the room.

_"Tell her to give me her recipe. I'll make it for you, too."_

Henry laughed lightly. "Not a chance. You'll have to learn it on your own. But the remnants of our dinner _are_ getting cold-"

_"Yes, yes, go back to your date. Call me if anything comes up."_

"What would come up?" Henry intoned.

_"Nothing at all. See you."_

Henry tried to shake the feeling that his son was implying something untoward as he returned the phone to Detective Martinez. "Sorry about that."

"There went your ride?"

Henry shrugged lightly. "I told him not to come. If I drove at all, I certainly wouldn't want to be out in this hazardous road trap myself. Shall we?" He gestured to the table.

Jo nodded.

　

 

"Now, I know you're partial to, like, _every_ kind of tea that I don't drink, but this is something different. Not a margarita, I know."

"Detective, this is _too_ much," Henry replied, eyeing the cup of hot chocolate she'd just sat in front of him warily. "You told me not to eat before dinner, but you didn't imply that I shouldn't eat for a _week_ before our dinner."

"What's dinner without dessert?" Jo replied with a grin. "And you do realize that you can call me by my name? We're not at work."

Henry let out a breath. "Very well, Jo, but you're forgetting that we already had dessert." A lovely chiffon, to be precise, and so her pastry skills matched Abe's on level, too.

"It's hot chocolate, Henry. Try it."

"Try it?" Henry curled his fingers around the warm mug. "Implying that you've changed the original recipe." He sniffed at it. "Hmm, orange? Orange liquer?" He raised his eyebrows. "Why, Jo, are you trying to get me drunk?"

She laughed. "If I was doing that, I would have put alcoholic whipped cream on it."

"Touché." Henry took a drink of the hot chocolate. He was pleasantly surprised - the story of the night, tonight - at the taste. "Oh, not just orange liquer." He took another sip. "... Irish cream." He licked his lips. "There's something else I can't place."

"Crème de cacao," Jo supplied.

"Ah, yes." Henry took another drink. "This is great, Jo. I might take some to go."

"Yeah, I don't envy you. Good luck getting a cab."

"I'll walk if not," Henry said, although the thought of abandoning cocoa-warm fingers for a trek through inches of snow was an unpleasant one.

"Or," Jo said slowly, "you could stay here."

Henry coughed into his hot chocolate, nearly casting a spray of chocolate foam down his front.

"The couch folds out," Jo added quickly. "God, Henry, what do you take me for?"

Henry cleared his throat. He wasn't sure if it was the suggestion or the alcohol that was burning all the way down deep into his chest. "... Right. Of course."

"We've both got tomorrow off, so..." Jo shrugged. "I've got horror movies and popcorn. I hate sending you out in the weather, especially knowing you're going to walk." She made a face. "Or I could just try to give you a ride home myself-"

"No," Henry interrupted. "I won't have Abraham out in this, I won't have you, either." He shook his head. "I can really walk. It's no trouble."

"And it's no trouble for you to sleep on my couch." Jo crossed her arms, and Henry resisted raising his eyebrows as she went into full Detective mode. "If you don't want Abe and me out in it, what makes you think I'm going to let _you_ go out?"

Now Henry _did_ raise his eyebrows. "So, it wasn't an offer," he replied lightly.

"Not really. But it sounds better if you're consensual about sleeping on my sofa than me _forcing_ you onto my sofa." She laughed. "Oh, your face, Henry. You really are a card. So?"

Henry wasn't sure if it was the aforementioned, quiet longing for companionship asides family or his friends in the morgue or if it was the buzz of the alcohol pulsing through his veins that made him contemplate the offer. He wasn't sure which had the stronger pull on him, or what ultimately tipped his hand.

"Very well, then," he agreed.

Jo smiled at him.

Henry took a gulp of his hot chocolate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by idelthought's Tumblr tags, because she's a lovely person with a myriad of lovely ideas, and one of those is basically pyjamas and ice cream and sleepovers. I'm totally game for that. Throw in a little adult hot chocolate and horror movies and we'll see where the night goes. (Truly, it's going to be less saucy than it sounds. :p)
> 
> I do not own _Forever_ , and credit for the idea to idelthought for being so awesome. (Also, the title to her, too.)  
> Stay tuned for Part Two! Thanks!


	2. Late Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The movie night commences.

_"Don't ask,"_ Jo had advised him, handing him clothing that had turned out to be men's pyjamas for him to change into. They weren't exactly his style, he thought, regarding himself in the mirror thoughtfully, but they would do. What was more curious was why Jo had a pair of men's pyjamas in her home, when all signs of her late husband's existence were more or less wiped clean, as far as Henry could see.

But, she was his host and she had given him the don't ask, don't tell policy, so he would keep his questions to himself. He folded his clothes neatly and set them on the bureau in the living room, slowly sinking onto her couch. She'd treated him to another one of her hot chocolates before going off to find him clothes and then get a shower, which left Henry, his blood laced with orange liqueur, crème de cacao and Irish cream, to sit on the edge of her sofa, tense, and try not to feel out of place.

He did, mostly because he hadn't spent a night with a woman in... since Abigail. It wasn't the same context, not at all, but it didn't settle his nerves when they sang to him that he was as good as an intruder in her home, eating her food and taking advantage of her accommodations.

"It doesn't bite, you know."

Henry glanced up.

Jo stood next to the sofa in an old shirt and sweatpants, towel drying her hair. She looked at him expectantly. "The TV," she elaborated.

"Oh." Henry looked back at the blank TV screen. "I didn't think it did."

"You _can_ turn it on." Jo paused. "Wait, do you even _watch_ TV?"

"Yes," Henry said patiently. Occasionally, but he didn't add that bit out loud.

"You know, I still know little to nothing about you." Jo tossed the towel into a chair. "What do you do when you're not cutting up cadavers? If it's not too invasive to ask." She said it like she was teasing, but Henry also knew that it was a round-about out of the conversation if he wanted it.

"Not too invasive," he replied, getting up to follow her into the kitchen. "Although I'm afraid I'm rather a boring person. I enjoy biking and swimming -" after much consideration in the past, he had started adding swimming to his hobbies just because of principal- "when there's not snow on the ground. And I suppose you could say music is a pasttime."

"Do you play?"

"I think Abraham would probably say I have a somewhat devoted love for the piano," Henry said, reminded of all the times that Abe had heaved sighs over learning Chopin and Brahms'.

"Wow. I... I don't know why I didn't expect that."

Henry smiled. "And yes, I watch television as well, although I must admit that I prefer the entertainment of a good book over the ruckus of a television or film."

"Okay, _that_ doesn't surprise me," Jo said. "Did you want something else? I can make you that margarita if you wanted it?"

Henry shook his head. "No, thank you, water's fine."

Jo nodded, grabbing a glass and filling it up from the tap. "I understand the appeal of books, of course, but sometimes I think TV is easier."

"There is an entirely different world in the universe of words, though," Henry replied thoughtfully. "There's limitations to television or cinema. Books are limitless, unbound by the laws of time slots or computer... generated images," he said, trying and failing not to sound disdainful. "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against television; I just prefer books."

"I gotcha." Jo leaned against the countertop. "Books take up five hundred pages, you can't put that into a movie and get all the good stuff."

"Exactly." Henry nodded.

"Let me guess..." Jo looked at him intently. "... Dystopian?"

Henry smiled to himself. "Science fiction, so count it if you will. Or historical fiction, those make interesting reads. Detective stories," he added, and Jo laughed at him. "What about you?"

"Fantasy, horror, some romance." She shrugged. "Supernatural. Anything, really. I can be a theatre buff if you talk about the right plays."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "I have to admit, I didn't expect that. "‘Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move’?"

"‘Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love’," Jo replied immediately.

"Well!" Henry laughed, taking a drink of his water to hide his smile. "I am pleasantly surprised, Detective. What else are you hiding from me?"

"Oh, countless things. What are _you_ hiding from _me_?"

"‘False face must hide what the false heart doth know,’" Henry replied with a smile.

Jo just grinned at him and gestured to the living room. "Well, I don't have _Macbeth_ , but I've got a smorgasbord of horror movies."

"Sounds lovely. Oh, actually, before I forget, might I use your phone again? Abraham worries if I don't check in, after that kidnapping and all."

"Uh huh, go for it." Jo tossed him her cell. "Any movie preference?"

Henry hesitated with his finger over the touchscreen numeric pad. Rarely did he put note on what was in theatres or being released onto DVD. The horror movies he was familiar with were the older, grainier films that only Abraham enjoyed with him sparingly. "I'm not terribly well up in what's new, or popular," he said. "I'll defer to your judgement."

"Alright, then."

Henry gave a little shrug and tapped out the antique shop's number, pressing the phone to his ear loosely.

_"Hello?"_

"Abraham," Henry greeted.

_"Oh, there you are, I was starting to worry. Are you still with the Detective?"_

"Yes, actually." Henry cast a glance around the room.

_"It must be going well."_

"Oh, it is. In fact, because of the weather, she, uh, offered to let me stay the night. It would have been ungrateful for me to decline." He cleared his throat.

There was a pause from Abe's end, followed by _"Should I be thinking about how our family dynamic is going to change after this date?"_ he asked pleasantly.

"No." Henry shook his head slightly. "No, that... won't be necessary."

_"If you say so. I slipped some condoms in your wallet when you weren't looking this afternoon."_

Henry nearly choked over his water, drawing forth a concerned look from Jo. "Abraham!" He caught Jo's eye and smiled reassuringly, pointing at the phone. _Sorry_ , he mouthed, with a little shake of his head.

Jo chuckled and looked back at the TV.

 _"You never know,"_ Abe said seriously.

Henry turned away slightly, lowering his voice. "You and I are going to have a serious talk when I get home, Abraham."

Abe's only response was laughing at him.

Where had he put his wallet, anyway? If Jo happened upon Abraham's prank, it would make this whole night-in seem like a lot more than it actually was, and he was positive that he had no expectations of any kind coming in. Henry sighed. _Kids_ , he thought to himself.

"Hoping that the roads aren't as treacherous," he said out loud, "we'll reconvene tomorrow. Alright?"

_"Sure, sure. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."_

"I'm not sure that's the best advice you could give me, Abe."

Abe chuckled. _"Sure it is. Have a nice night."_

"It must be nice," Jo commented, after Henry had said his goodnights to Abraham and they had begun unfolding the sofa. "You and Abe, you guys act like father and son."

The cushion got away from Henry. "Er, yeah." He fumbled to collect his thoughts and himself. "He can be a bit... rowdy sometimes."

"I think it's nice. It's good to have someone caring for you like that, someone who'll worry whether or not you get home at night."

"Well." Henry straightened up as they finished the sofa. "For the record, I may have Abe, but you have an entire precinct that has your interests at heart. As well as a slightly overprotective medical examiner," he joked, even though he was serious.

"Ha ha, Henry. Keep sweet talking me and I'll _have_ to make you some more hot chocolate if that's the kind of drunk you turn into."

Henry smiled charmingly. "So, what's on the, uh, movies?" He gestured to the television briefly, seeing a list of movies and some television shows that he recognised. Most of them he didn't.

"Movie monsters and murder?" Jo said innocently. She sat back on the sofa. "Come on, Henry. I don't bite, either."

"No, we'll leave that to the vampires," Henry replied, settling onto the opposite end of the sofa.

"Sure. We can do that."

　

 

Never did Henry think he'd see the day where microwaveable food would have any other purpose than to make him sick to his stomach.

He had heard the buzz and whir of the microwave when Jo had trailed off into the kitchen during opening credits of their second movie, but he hadn't paid too much attention to it over an extraterrestrial being attacking the population. Then he had heard the ever knowing beep that came at the end of the microwave's cycle, and his metaphorical ears perked up. He lifted his gaze from the television and looked over his shoulder.

"Popcorn," Jo said, tearing open the bag to dump into a bowl. "Plenty more where this came from." And she plopped the bowl on the sofa between them, leaving Henry feeling halfway between intrigued because, well, it was popcorn, and sick, because it was the microwave.

Modern conveniences. He couldn't complain at someone _else's_ house like he did at home.

He just hoped he didn't get a stomachache over it.

Twenty minutes in to the movie, Henry had forgotten he was eating microwaveable popcorn.

　

 

Henry sat Indian style, legs crossed criss-cross-applesauce, so they in schools nowadays, fingers curled loosely into the kneecap of the baggy pajama pants and his other hand paused in the refilled bowl of popcorn.

When the loud _bang!_ \- the expectant one, the very expectant one that had Henry stilled from action in the first place - cracked from the surround sound system Jo had in her home, Henry startled as though the gun had gone off somewhere directly behind his left ear. (And, to be fair, it had been behind his left ear that the speaker had emanated the noise.)

Jo must have done the same exact thing, or a muted version of it, but Henry hadn't been paying attention. But the detective let out a breath and laughed slightly, reaching for the popcorn. Their hands brushed and Henry jumped again - and felt Jo jump this time, too - before they both started laughing.

"Sorry," Jo said, holding up her hands.

"No, no, no, be my guest," Henry offered the bowl to her, although his attention was drawn back into the movie nearly instantly.

There was something to be said for these movies. Film had changed so much since his day. There were lots of effects and overembellished plots, but a movie being able to startle him definitely was not something he could have said for movies of the past. He didn't find these movies particularly scary, moreso creepy in their own right, but for the element of suspense, they were undeniably good.

One of the female leads screamed, and Henry found himself beginning to wonder if anyone would make it out alive at all.

　

 

The next movie started out slow, with a group of young people trying to contact the dead with a ouija board. Henry, despite all of his years, or maybe because of them, believed in such a thing. If he could live forever, who was to say that ghosts couldn't contact the living, and vice versa?

But it had gone past one in the morning, and he was an early to bed, early to rise sort. The last time he had stayed up past one on something not case or death related was... hardly ever.

He was trying hard not to nod off with his head tucked between the back of the sofa and the armrest, but he was failing. He'd have to apologise to Jo for falling asleep on their movie night...

... Until there was a loud scream from the television, and something grabbed his shoulder, and Henry nearly went right over the side of the sofa in his dazed, adrenalin-pumped state.

Jo retracted her arm, laughing.

It took Henry a _long_ moment. He swore that Jo didn't stop chuckling for a good five minutes.

"The great fearless Doctor Morgan is afraid of something, after all," she said playfully.

"I never claimed to _be_ fearless," he replied, eyebrows raised. He wasn't sure what had given her that idea.

"Couldn't prove it by me," Jo replied, "all those times you've put yourself in danger."

Oh. All of _those_ times. "That's different."

"Is it?" Jo asked idly.

"It is," Henry replied softly, and turned back to the movie with his heart still thumping wildly in his chest.

　

 

Jo licked ice cream from her spoon. "It must be nice."

Henry could barely keep his eyes open. "What's that?"

"Living forever. I mean, talk about never having regrets over what you didn't get to do."

If it weren't three in the morning, Henry would have been immediately on the defensive. Be that as it were, something trilled through his veins, telling him to open his eyes and abandon the pillow and blankets they had pulled out. He was only slightly too tired to listen to it. (How did mortals do it, stay up so late? He had practise, and he was tired by ten.)

"It sucks," he muttered.

"Huh?"

Henry blinked hard. Internal alarms were going off. _Wake up, wake_ up _._ "I just meant, it must be unpleasant. Having to constantly watch the ones you love around you die, going through the trouble to create new relationships only to see them wither away as well."

"Wow."

Henry shifted his head on the pillow to look at her. "What?"

"I had _no_ idea that you are _so_ cynical." She grinned. (Still managing to be sarcastic, perceptive, _and_ wide awake, although Henry suspected it had to do more with the extra alcohol she had consumed and the ice cream melting in the carton next to her. He almost envied her.)

Henry's lips twitched towards a frown. "Cynical?" He tilted his head slightly. "I like to think I'm... rational."

"Well, sure, but that takes the fun out of it."

Henry bit back the reflexive _It's not fun, it's a nightmare_. Only just.

"You can do what you want to do," Jo continued. "You don't have to be tied down by a name or a place or a _job_. You don't have to worry about consequences. You know, live like you only have a week left to live, but you really have forever?"

"Forever is a long time," Henry muttered wearily.

"I guess." Jo looked back at the TV. "Imagine the sights you could see. The people you'd meet."

Henry could, and did. He thought about Abigail and Abraham, about the war, and the illness, and the celebration. He thought about independence and insanity, Nora and automobiles and the way that his lips still tasted of butter and salt from microwaveable popcorn. He thought about television, and monster movies, and advancements in scientific technology. He thought about down pillows and fleece blankets and the people of New York, and Jo.

Maybe it wasn't so bad.

"Maybe..." he mumbled.

"Maybe what?" Jo replied.

Henry was lost to thoughts and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's not a nightmare, after all, huh, Henry? idelthoughts (it should be Ideal Thoughts), did you like it?!??
> 
> Funny note: I actually fell asleep immediately after writing this. My family decided to open my horror-movie-squeaky bedroom door, scare the bajeezus out of me, so what Jo did to Henry in scaring him? Pretty much backfired on me ten minutes later. Yay for personal experience! /shifty eyes
> 
> I lied. There's going to be one more chapter. I was reminded of the 'finding the person to spend all your breakfast and dinners with' and I can't resist their morning. Because I totally went off prompt with the first chapter, I'm rounding off again with a final chapter. I'm sorrrryyy~ xD
> 
> I don't own anything mentioned, quoted, or referenced in this chapter. Thanks for continuing to read and stay tuned, as usual~


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Henry woke up slowly, saturated thoroughly to the bone with prior exhaustion and waking tiredness. He blinked once, and then let his eyes close again, sighing heavily into the pillow.

A pillow that smelled of women's shampoo.

Henry opened his eyes.

The night before came back to him in slow bits and pieces, bouncing off the reflection of his subconsciousness before settling into his awakened state. He'd gone to Jo's for dinner, he'd ended up staying over due to the inclement weather, and they had had a movie marathon. The latter of which he couldn't recall ending, so he must have fallen asleep on them. He would have to apologise most profusely for that later.

Henry yawned into the pillow and rolled over, fighting slightly as the blankets caught his legs and refused to let go, the tug and pull of fabric against fabric exhausting him again. He could simply turn over and catch a few more hours, seeing as how it certainly couldn't be any time near morning.

"Oh, hey, good morning, sleepyhead."

Jo caught Henry's gaze from across the room. She was tucked into one of the plush armchairs diagonal from the sofa, her hair falling in loose waves around her face. She was still in the same clothes from last night, and the television was on the background, but it now showed some game show instead of the horror movies he had dreamt about all night long.

"A good morning it is," Henry said with as an enthusiastic smile as he could muster upon first waking. "I have to apologise, I believe I fell asleep over one of those movies last night."

Jo smiled warmly. "Uh huh, I noticed. It was actually just about over, anyway, so you didn't miss much."

"I'm not much of a late night person, I'm afraid," Henry said, putting more effort into the blankets wrapped around him. He had to pause to yawn, covering his mouth with his hand. He was about to inquire on the time when Jo interrupted.

"I figured as much. You didn't strike me as someone to sleep this late normally."

"This late?"

"Almost eleven-thirty."

Henry sat up quickly, finally disentangling himself from the blanket. "It's eleven-thirty?" He reached reflexively for his pocket watch, and then to the window when he remembered that he didn't have it on his person. "I'm sorry. I _really_ don't sleep this late normally."

Jo shrugged. "Nowhere to be. Unless you had somewhere?"

Henry shook his head. "Nowhere asides the antique shop." Not that sleeping away the day was a good enough excuse for missing out on helping Abraham organise the mess that had become the shop recently. "Abe's probably worried sick."

Jo shook her head. "He hasn't called."

"Well." _It's nice to have someone looking out for you_ , he thought to himself sarcastically, but then he remembered the conversation he had had with his son the night prior, and suddenly realised why he hadn't called.

Henry self-consciously ran his fingers through his hair.

"Did you want breakfast?" Jo was saying. "I didn't make anything, but I can-"

Henry shook his head, rising to his feet. "No, I'm perfectly fine." He stopped, the inkling of an idea falling into his mind. "Actually," he added with a smile, "if you'd allow me to take reign over your kitchen for a short time, I can return the favour of dinner and - several - movies by making you breakfast."

"Oh, no, Henry, we can just get something out, or I can make it, it's no trouble."

"Now, Detective," Henry replied mock-sternly. "I insist. Allow me to repay your hospitality with some of my own."

Jo looked at him for a moment, eyes gleaming with curiosity and maybe an edge of amusement. She looked like she was trying to solve a highly complex, highly amusing puzzle. "You're a guest in my house and you want to make _me_ breakfast?"

Henry simply nodded. "Yes, I do. If it's not too much trouble."

"Uh, no." She looked stumped at this point in the game, and looked away. "I mean, you can if you want. D'you need any help?"

Henry shook his head. If two hundred years gave one experience, it was experience in cooking that thrived over the decades. He might not use a microwave, but he could make just about anything with the stovetop and oven. "Not today, Jo. Sit back and relax."

"If you say so. Let me know if you need help."

"I will do."

He had to admit - slightly - that he was out of practise. Abraham did most of the cooking at home and, while Henry often helped with one dish or another, he hadn't had the luxury to just work on a meal. He was starting to realise just how much he missed it.

"Whatever you're making smells amazing!" Jo called from the living room.

Henry smiled to himself. "Wait until you try it," he called back, washing off the cutting board. "I'm fairly confident that you'll like it."

"Fairly?"

Henry chuckled to himself. "Fairly," he repeated, and then only just bit back an exclamation of pain when he sliced his finger instead of the tomato. "Well, that was... unintelligent." He stuck his finger in his mouth. "Hey, Jo?"

"Uh huh?"

"Where are your bandages?" He picked up the fork to turn the sausages in the meantime, the metallic tang of blood in his mouth something he had yet to get used to throughout the centuries. He would have said that he hoped he didn't have to get used to it, but, knowing his life, well. Blood was just a normal part of life and death. In his case, mostly death. One time suffocating on one's own blood and one more or less lost the silver lining about it.

Jo appeared in the kitchen. "What did you do?"

Henry spun around, holding up his hand. "A minor injury, nothing more. I'll treat it properly in a moment, however, I'd prefer not to bleed into the eggs."

Jo crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway. "How is it, I wonder, that you slice up cadavers every day, only to cut yourself making breakfast."

Henry smiled wryly. "I could do autopsies in my sleep. Cooking, sadly, is a skill that goes often untouched."

Jo laughed. "Yeah, I'll be right back."

"Thank you."

He wasn't sure what was causing it - and maybe it was a hail back to the small fact that he hadn't had a relationship with a woman, whether platonic or romantic, since Abigail - but Henry was all fingers and thumbs throughout the entire preparation of breakfast. By the time he set the table, his finger was smarting and there was a burn on the side of his hand throbbing.

"Battle scars," he joked, as Jo's eyes lingered on his hand.

"I literally cannot believe you."

"Oh, take it easy on me. I'm actually an experienced cook. I just never get the chance to cook _for_ anyone asides from Abe." He set the plate down in front of Jo. "Bon appetite, nevertheless."

Jo looked momentarily stunned for a half second before looking up at him. "Okay, I'm open to new things, but you've got to tell me what I'm eating here."

"A fry-up," Henry replied, taking the seat next to her. "Or, a full English breakfast, traditional in, well, England." He looked at his own plate, pointing as he spoke. "Poached eggs, bacon, fried tomato and mushroom, sausage, baked beans, fried bread and tea."

"... _Wow_."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Too much?"

"I usually have coffee and a bagel," Jo admitted shortly.

"Oh, Jo." Henry unfolded his napkin to place it across his lap. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"Yeah, well, bagels and cold cereal have gotten me this far." Jo picked up her fork. "I don't have time for breakfast, anyway, unless you're offering." She smiled before cutting into her eggs.

"Are you asking me to - to be your personal chef?" Henry could remember a prior conversation that they had had, the two of them, and only just caught himself from bringing it up. _Finding the person to spend all your dinner and breakfasts with._ Blunted into a joke or not, it was far too much for both him _and_ Jo. The lure of companionship wasn't exclusively romantic; Henry was stalwart on that ideal.

"Sure, Henry." Jo laughed. "But in between cutting up bodies, I don't think you'll have time for carving a turkey at Thanksgiving."

"You'd be surprised. I have excellent time management," Henry replied cheerfully, and picked up his knife for the bread.

　

 

"So, then, of course, he's got the fire extinguisher in one hand and the lid for the pan in the other-"

Henry held onto his second mug of tea loosely, trapped in a permanent state of blissful peace and a carefree smile, as Jo recounted a case that she and Hanson had gotten into involving a toaster that had exploded. (Furthering Henry's dislike for kitchen appliances, she was.)

A knock on the door interrupted the story, though, and Henry was grateful for the distraction which reminded him _elbows off the table, Henry_ and _time to get back to the dishes, Henry_. It was easy to forget himself, sometimes.

He took a sip of his tea and set it aside, standing to return to the dish water. It had gone cold over the countless stories he and Jo were trading back (him with some careful consideration on which ones to tell her without giving anything about himself away) and he pushed his sleeves up to pull the stopper in the bottom of the sink to let the water out.

"Hang on, is this the Henry Morgan I know?"

Henry fumbled the stopper at the familiar voice, glancing over his shoulder to see both Jo and Abraham standing in the doorway.

"Abe!" Henry fixed the stopper, reaching for the towel. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was in the neighborhood, I figured you still needed a ride." Abe was giving him a look beneath the casual conversation.

Henry gave him that look right back, arching an eyebrow. "You shouldn't have troubled yourself, Abe. I would have called."

"And missed out on you doing dishes?" Abe asked. "Please."

"I do dishes," Henry replied. "I always do dishes at home." He looked at Jo. "Don't let him talk you into thinking I can't handle menial tasks outside of the morgue."

Jo chuckled. "Don't worry, but I was saying, I could have taken you home, you really didn't need to come all this way," she said, looking back at Abe.

"Oh, no trouble, Detective. Someone's gotta keep an eye on him," Abe replied cheerfully. "If you're not ready, then I can come back."

Henry glanced down at the dishes. "Well, I-"

"Don't worry about those, Henry. I'm capable of menial tasks, too," Jo joked.

"If you want to stay-" Abe started.

"No. No, I've..." Henry looked between Abe and Jo. "I've really taken up too much of your time. I should go."

"I mean, you don't have to go if you don't want-" Jo added.

"No, no, no, really, it's fine. I just-" Henry glanced down at himself. "I should get changed. One moment." He held up a finger and then strode from the room to grab his clothes and go change.

"Well," he said, upon returning, "I had an enjoyable evening, Jo." He fixed his coat. "I'd love to do it again sometime."

"Yeah. I'd like that. Maybe not the snowed in part," she added.

"No," Henry agreed, "I'm not a fan of that, either."

He smiled and Jo smiled back at him and, quite quickly, Henry found that his suave, occasional smooth-talking tongue, was tied. How did one cap off the evening and morning that they had had?

Jo cleared her throat. "Well-"

"Yes. I'll see you at work," Henry said, nodding.

"I'll see you at work," Jo echoed.

She showed them out afterwards. Henry rubbed his gloved hands together and tried to fix his scarf to block the cold air from his warm skin.

Abe nudged him in the ribs. "Okay, tell me everything."

Henry stopped. "Oh!" He patted his pockets for a moment before reaching for Abe's hand. He deposited the aforementioned condoms into Abe's gloved hand, leaning over. "These are not my size," he said coyly, his breath a puff of condensation in the air before he pulled away and headed to the car.

"... _Oh_ , I take it back," Abe muttered from behind him. "There's some things I just don't wanna know."

Henry laughed out loud. His heart felt the lightest that it had in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, you guys, I had so much fun writing this~ Thank you thank you thank you, idelthoughts, for this lovely prompt and all this platonic, domestic Henry/Jo (Are they called Jenry? The other variation doesn't work well x'D Oh, or Doctor Martinez? I still don't know the common ship name!) and yes, this was just a perfect prompt that was buckets and buckets of fun to write. It might have gotten away from me a little bit, but it was great!
> 
> And now - onto the next project. (because I apparently can't finish one story without starting another) ;)
> 
> I do not own _Forever_ , and thank you all for your amazing support, kudos, and comments!


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